


In Another Life

by yunmin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends (Dark Horse Comics), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Battle of Yavin, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: At eighteen, Syal Antilles leaves her home – a refuelling station above Gus Treta – to train as an Imperial Pilot.Thirteen years later, she flies in the skies above Yavin.





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olio/gifts).



Syal Antilles first meets Leia Organa on Kashyyyk.

Then, Leia is only seventeen years old. She’s the youngest senator in the history of the Republic, that’s what they all say about her, that’s all anyone has to say about her. They don’t mention the way she commands a room when she walks in, or the spark of fire that lights in her eyes.

Syal Antilles is twenty-nine, and no stranger to her eye being caught by powerful women. That’s how she ended up here, on Kashyyyk, with a group of rogue senators and planetary leaders. She’d gone to Coruscant to train as an Imperial Pilot, eleven years ago. Her duties as a TIE pilot had opened her eyes to the state of the Galaxy, and a few choice encounters with Mon Mothma, the Chandrilan Senator, had convinced her that the Empire was to blame. Syal had moved from the ranks of the Imperial Navy, until she’d been assigned to diplomatic protection duty. Her charge was Mon, and now she would defect with her.

To form this Alliance to Restore the Republic.

Syal doesn’t know how she feels about the Republic. The little she remembers isn’t great. But the Empire is worse, and Syal watches the fire in the eyes of their new leaders, in Mon, in little Leia Organa, and she has hope.

.

In the dimly lit, bustling hangar of Yavin IV, Syal witnesses the birth of the rebellion, where it really starts. Its beginning is heralded by the arrival of an old beat-up Corellian freighter, a YT-1300. They’re good and sturdy, but some thirty years out of date. This one’s been heavily modified, Syal can tell. That childhood spend on a Corellian refuelling station amongst smugglers and riff-raff is good for something. Off it step a man of the ilk Syal has seen a thousand times before, could find a thousand more like him, a boy with shining golden hair, and the Princess.

The Princess is dressed in a flowing white gown, that spark of fire still burning in her eyes despite everything she has undergone. Syal once dreamed of gowns like that, before reality took hold and she focused her attention on the practicalities. She wears, instead, an orange flight suit, white flak vest fastened over it, black gloves and boots. Her hair is pulled back into a braid, and then tucked and pinned to her head.

Syal has thought of cutting it many times now. But every time she sits down in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors, she remembers her mother. Can see her reflection in the mirror, as well as her own. The time when Zena helped her do her hair were some of the only moments she got alone with her mother.

Her mother is dead and gone now.

So is Organa’s. But Syal has had two years to move on from the loss of her parents, and for Leia that wound is still fresh. A dozen of the Alliance’s upper brass swarm around Leia, all ready to try and soothe that wound, but Leia is only business. The boy, who Syal sizes up as an outer rim farmboy in about two seconds, follows her, puppy-dog lovesick.

A few hours later, Syal is the one who oversees the boy, Skywalker’s, induction the the starfighter corps. She is the one who stands over him in the simulator, watches him make a mess of his first run, and sees a spark in him, too. He aces his second run, and with it earns a spot in the X-Wing squadron they’re building for the attack on the Death Star.

Syal is in that squadron too. Developments in the Alliance means she’s more use as a pilot than as Mon Mothma’s personal bodyguard. Syal doesn’t mind, too much. Flying is what she was born to do. It’s difficult to turn over the duty of Mon’s protection to someone else, but if she flies in Red Squadron Syal protects the Alliance, a cause that is more important to Mon than her life, and that’s almost the same.

“Captain Antilles.” Organa catches her, just before Syal is about to board her X-Wing. The Death Star is in orbit above them. “You’ll look after Skywalker, won’t you?”

Syal has heard the whispers. Heard Commander Dreis speak of the other pilot named Skywalker, one who could out fly anything, and wonders if she needs to. “Of course, Princess,” Syal says. “He’ll be safe with me.”

Luke Skywalker lives up to his father’s legacy, and takes a shot that should be impossible. Syal, stabilisers fried, watches him do it from the open space above.

It’s a shot that sparks the fire that will burn the Empire down to ash, and Syal saw it fired.

.

After the battle, a battle that Syal survives but some miracle of luck and skill and pure chance, she ignores the celebrations. They are alive, many are dead, and so they should drink and fuck and tomorrow they will go back to putting their lives on the line for what they believe, and some more will die.

Tomorrow Mon’s ship will land, and Syal will be reassigned back to her, in the wake of Red Squadron’s destruction, and everyone here will turn to a distant memory.

Still, she can’t sleep. The collective adrenaline is still too high. Syal haunts the back corridors of the base, using the security clearance she’s earned as Mon’s guard to slink into quiet corners.

It’s there she finds Leia Organa, curled up in the chair of the office that Mon and Bail used to share. Her white dress is not as crisp as Syal thought it was, marked with dust and dirt and sweat, and it’s creased over her like a blanket right now. The girl can’t be comfortable there.

Syal debates whether to move her, or to fetch someone who knows her better. She’s not sure who she would fetch. That decision is taken from her when Leia rouses. She looks up at Syal with bleary eyes. They’re blotchy and red, and it’s obvious that she’s been crying. Of course, she has every right too. Her entire world was just destroyed.

“What do you want?” There is a guardedness to her tone, a shortness, that her diplomatic training can’t quite cover.

“Nothing, Princess.” Syal makes her voice as soft as possible. “I was just passing through.” She stands there for a moment, wondering whether she should excuse herself or wait for Leia to dismiss her. Leia just stares at her, like she quite can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Are… are you okay, Leia?”

It’s a stupid question. She isn’t, that much is self-evident. But Syal has been there, and it took until Mon asked her that question one day for her to admit that she wasn’t. And so she offers Leia a chance to say it.

“I’m fine,” Leia says. Syal furrows her brow. If the Princess wants to go on pretending, that’s her prerogative. Leia looks away, back at her gown, and doesn’t say any more.

Syal is about to leave when she hears the quiet sobs emanating from the small girl. She strides back across the room, placing a hand on Leia’s shoulder. She rubs gently, letting Leia cry. The sobs just get louder, Leia’s grief finally overwhelming. Syal doesn’t know what to do, but she knows that this is not the place for it.

She lifts Leia out the chair, tucking the girl into her side. “Come on, Leia, lets get you some place more comfortable.”

.

Syal doesn’t know where Leia’s quarters are – she’ll have been assigned some place, when she arrived, but she’ll likely have been tucked in amongst everyone else. They’re probably not private. Neither are Syal’s, who is currently living in the pilots’ wing of the base, sharing her room with a young Alderaanian girl. Verlaine might know more about how to deal with a grieving princess than Syal does, but she might also be too close to it.

Syal takes Leia to Mon’s quarters, currently vacant. They’re out the way, with the benefit of a small private refresher. Syal guides Leia to sit on the bed whilst she goes to investigate what supplies Mon might have left in the refresher. Yavin being a damp, jungle planet, means that they are rigged up with fresh, real water. The limited space still means that there’s only a cubicle, not a bath, which Syal knows would be helpful, but it’ll do. She reaches in and sets the taps running, warming the water in advance.

“Princess,” Syal says, popping her head out. “Come here.” Leia looks up. She’s stopped sobbing audibly. “You’ll feel better after a douse in warm water, I know you will.” Leia gets up and walks towards Syal. Syal ushers her in. She cocks her head as she examines the girl’s hair. “Do you want to wash your hair, or should we leave that for later?”

“Later,” Leia replies. “I got the worst of it on the Falcon.”

Syal nods. She goes to the girl’s back, unfastens her dress. “Are you okay from here? I’ll find you some towels and clean clothes.”

“I’m fine,” Leia says.

Syal leaves, and shuts the door behind her. She heads for Mon’s drawers. There will be things left in them, as Mon only took an emergency bag when she left Yavin. She finds a plain white nightdress, and a dressrobe, some clean undergarments. A dig in some other drawers reveals a solitary clean towel. Syal goes back, knocks at the refresher door, and then slides it open just a crack. “Towel, when you’ve finished,” she says, leaving it just inside the door and being careful to avert her eyes.

Syal then sits and waits for Organa to be done. She knows she could be there a while, that Organa may lose herself in the warm water, finally able to let her obligations wash away from her. But it’s only a few minutes before she’s poking her head out the refresher door, skin pink from the heat of the water, holding the towel around her. “You said you’d find some clothes?”

Syal grabs the bundle sitting on the bed beside her. “Mon’s things. They might be a little long on you, but otherwise I think they’ll fit.” She hands the bundle to Leia. “Do you need any help?” It seems patronising to offer, but Syal can’t rely on Leia asking if she needs to.

“I think I’ll be alright.” Leia manages to give a slight smile, then disappears back to the refresher.

Syal waits until she emerges again. The nightdress falls to her ankles, where it’s mid-calf length on Mon. The dressrobe is over it, not tied. Leia Organa looks clean and scrubbed and, apart from the state of her hair, flyaways curling from the steam of the shower, you’d not know the day she’d had.

“Is there anything else you need?” Syal asks. “Alderaanian rites that need to be observed? Help with your hair?”

Leia flounders for a minute. “Something of both, actually.” She takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I need a mourning braid in my hair, and I don’t know if I can do it myself.”

Syal furrows her brow. “I can help, if you tell me what to do.”

Leia talks Syal through unpinning the buns that are pinned to the sides of her head. Syal finds a comb, and slowly brushes out all the knots in Leia’s long hair. Leia describes the braid, and the customary twist that accompanies it. It’s customary to braid hair taken from the person you are mourning into it, but that isn’t possible. Syal deftly braids the tiny core strand, and then twists the hair around it. She gathers half of Leia’s hair at the top of her head, the mourning braid included, and secures it with a tie. Then, she halves the remaining hair, and uses the three sections she has to form a three strand braid. That will keep Organa’s hair neat and organised.

“Who taught you how to braid?” Organa asks, pleased with Syal’s handiwork.

“My mother,” Syal answers honestly.

“How does she feel, about you being in the Rebellion?”

Syal’s breath goes short. But she owes Leia the answer, to tell her that she is not the only one who has lost her parents. “My mother is dead. My father too. They died in a refuelling station fire set on purpose shortly after the signing of the Corellian Treaty, when I defected with Mon.”

Leia doesn’t know what to say. She shakes. Her head drops. Syal lays a hand on her shoulder. “You aren’t alone Leia, in wondering if the actions you took caused your parents’ deaths.”

Leia utters a gasp, and then folds herself over into a sob. Syal wraps an arm tight around the girl’s shoulders, and pulls her in. “Let it out,” she says. “Let it out and grieve and tomorrow we go on.”

.

Syal doesn’t attend the medal ceremony. She hasn’t earned any commendations, though she’s sure that Mon and Admiral Ackbar have put them on file for her anyway. She takes up her position as Mon’s guard the moment Mon’s ship lands back on Yavin, and whilst Princess Leia is uplifting the morale of the troops, Mon, Ackbar and Dodonna tuck themselves away and plan the evacuation. Syal stands behind Mon’s chair, listening to the decisions of the people far above her head.

It’s there she learns that she will be permanently shifted out of her position as Mon’s guard, and into the Starfighter Corps.

After the meeting, Syal attempts to make her case – she doesn’t mind being seconded to the corps as necessary, but whilst she is on the same ship as Mon she should be able to continue her position as guard. Mon disagrees. With the Battle of Scarif and the Battle of Yavin decimating the Starfighter Corps, experienced pilots are needed for lead positions. Syal is needed not just to fly, but to train new pilots. And she cannot do that and guard Mon.

Her transfer comes with a promotion – to Commander. Skywalker is to be made a Lieutenant with immediate effect, and will be assigned to her squadron.

(Syal learns a little more about Skywalker, listening into that meeting. Supposedly the son of one of the Jedi Generals from the Clone Wars, an ace pilot. Mon knew him. As did Ackbar. They think Skywalker will do great things for this Rebellion.

Syal didn’t need to know who his father was to tell them that.)

Organa will take up her father’s mantle and role on the council, whilst also continuing the work she was doing before Yavin in garnering support and resources for the Rebellion.

Han Solo will – well, no one is quite sure. But he seems to be along for the ride. Only time will tell if he has any real commitment to the cause.

Syal evacuates Yavin IV in her X-Wing, escorting the capital ships away, and feels a new era of the Rebellion begin.

.

One of the pilots in her flight dies, and Syal feels the weight of the responsibility of leadership starting to press around her neck.

Not just in dealing with the responsibility of the death itself, wondering if there’s anything that could have been done to save him, to prevent the casualty, to make him have come back alive. But in caring for the rest of her pilots. Celchu had been his wingman, and Syal doesn’t know if she’s ever seen a man more filled with anger. It’s righteous, for what the Empire did to Alderaan, for what Celchu’s own part had been in upholding the Empire, and it’s useful, under the right circumstances.

Those circumstances are not today, when he swears revenge, and Syal has to tell him to lay his emotions aside, to grieve, and then to get back in his X-Wing tomorrow afresh. Distracted minds will just make more friends dead.

(With the four boys who make up the core of Syal’s six man flight – Luke Skywalker, Tycho Celchu, Wes Janson and Derek ‘Hobbie’ Klivian – all being younger and less experienced than her, Syal feels like a mother hen sometimes. In fact, she thinks that Wes may have started calling her mom when she isn’t in earshot.)

She makes sure the boys all eat well, gathering them in a corner of the mess and shielding them from the words of everyone else. Gossip runs rife in the Rebellion, and not all of it is pleasant. And then she sends them back to their bunk room, with a pack of cards, and tells them to make fun amongst themselves and get some sleep.

It’s Luke who stops her as she goes to leave, still with that bright eyed naivety and belief that he could save everyone if they just let him, and says: “You should take care of yourself too, Commander.”

Syal promises him that she will. She goes to wander the empty corridors of the base, wondering if there is anything that could have been done. She’s certain that there wasn't. Sometimes, there is nothing that can be done.

She pauses at a viewport, staring out into open space. The stars are bright, and the black is endless. It reminds her of home, only at the refuelling depot there was a planet below, and a little boy at her back, asking if she’d come play with him.

Syal misses Wedge. She hopes he’s okay, whether he is. Hopes he has a nice life.

“Hey.”

Syal turns at the sound of Leia Organa’s soft voice. She smiles. “Hello, Princess.”

Leia is wearing white fatigues, a riff on the Rebellion’s standard uniform that still marks her apart. Her rank is pinned to her collar, a Colonel’s pips, lest anyone forget that she's earned her rank, that she isn't just in this Rebellion as a princess of a world that no longer exists.

“I heard about what happened with Rogue Flight. Are you alright?” Leia moves to stand next to Syal. The height difference is such that Organa’s shoulder brushes somewhere above Syal’s elbow.

“The boys are settled, they’ll be fine.”

“I didn't ask about your boys, I asked about you.”

Organa’s tone is oddly insistent. Syal glances down, and sees that Organa's mouth is folded into a firm line. She’s not letting this go. Despite the fact that Organa shouldn't care so much about one pilot. “I’ve lost pilots before. It’s awful, but the sacrifice is necessary. There was nothing I could do.”

“And they call me the Ice Princess. I’ve got nothing on you.” Leia’s voice is teasing. “It's okay to take these things personally Syal. It's okay to be upset about them. I’m not one of your Rogue boys, you don't need to put a front up around me.”

“I’m—” Leia cuts her off with a glare. Syal supposes that she isn’t fine. She’s not – she’s not falling to pieces, like some she knows, who after the first death under their command fall off the rails, becoming a danger and a liability. She’s somewhere in the middle, upset but coping. “I will be alright, Princess. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“What if I want to worry?”

Now Leia’s tone is teasing, said with a smile, almost – well, flirtatious, if Syal wanted to put a word to it. She doesn’t. The Princess is ten years her junior. No matter how much admiration she might draw from Syal, this is – it’s not Syal’s place, to have feelings for the last Princess of Alderaan. That is for men like Skywalker, who can play the part of the dashing hero, to fall alongside her.

“I think your worry is needed elsewhere.”

“You took care of me once,” Leia says, her voice dropping. She steps a little closer. She peers up at Syal, through dark lashes. “Let me take care of you.”

Syal falters. Gosh, she’s not immune to how pretty Leia Organa is. For the woman is beauty almost personified, with a warrior’s heart. She will die for what she believes in, and has the power to send many men to their deaths for that cause, and Syal has _always_ been week for women like that. It’s part of how she got into this whole mess, Mon swaying her to the cause of the Rebellion as much with smooth smiles and soft touch as with cold hard facts.

“What—” Syal feels clumsy, words awkward in her mouth. “What would you do?”

That’s not the way to respond to what is almost certainly a proposition from a beautiful woman. Syal knows it the moment she’s said it. She feels her cheeks go hot, and takes a step away from Leia.

“How about we go and watch some holodramas?” Leia suggests. “I’ve been sent some dreck that’s popular on Coruscant, featuring their latest star – some guy named Saro Starflare – and I’ve got to watch them for research. You could keep me company?” Leia smiles, then decides to push her luck. “In my quarters?”

Holodramas. Syal can do that. “Okay, Princess.” Syal offers her arm, and Leia slides her own into it, easy as can be. “Lead the way.”

.

Hoth is freezing.

Hoth is barely considered habitable by humans, and yet the Rebel Alliance has made it their home. It’s so on the edge that the base is staffed only by humans, and aliens with a decent layer of fur. It’s safe as houses, and that’s what they need right now.

It’s also an explanation for why Syal is sharing Leia Organa’s bed.

Bed-sharing is almost a necessity on Hoth. The base is kept cold – it’s carved out of the ice, and too much heat would make them vulnerable to detection. So to keep warm at night, many have taken to sharing body heat. It’s often just platonic between bedmates, though there’s certainly no shortage of hookups going on, established partners inviting a third person into their bed for ‘warmth’, half a dozen people piling their bedding together and becoming a pile of limbs.

Syal’s Rogues have taken to it with abandon. Wes and Hobbie were sharing a bed before Hoth, but now that bed has expanded – Tycho and Luke are there most nights, and the rest of the Rogues slip in and out of that room like nobodies business. Syal has an open invitation, but she’s not really sure it’s her thing.

Leia Organa faces the same problem Syal does – a woman, on a base that is at least three-quarters of the male persuasion, of rank, and single. It makes them fodder for the gossip pool, especially Organa. Syal has stopped the betting pool on who Leia would sleep with first the moment she caught wind of it, with harsh enough words and chores that Wes will think twice about opening one on that particular subject again, but… Syal can’t protect her always. And so, when Organa had been cold and complaining about how lucky everyone else was to have willing bed partners, Syal had volunteered.

It had, possibly, been a mistake.

Leia Organa is curled up beside Syal, eyes shut, breathing soft, sleeping. Her hair is in a long braid that’s thrown over her shoulder, but it’s loose around her face, falling softly over her cheek. Syal rests on her side, propping her head up by her elbow, and can’t stop watching her.

She knows she shouldn’t.

She knows that Leia has invited her here because she trusts Syal. And Syal is going to uphold that trust. That means not falling victim to these rising feelings in her chest, the desire to pull Leia close to her and hold her, comb her fingers through her hair, place kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. She would keep Leia safe here, in this bed, in her arms, and never let harm come to her.

She can’t. She can’t go and fall in love with Leia Organa, last Princess of Alderaan, leader and hero of the Rebellion.

“Syal?”

Syal startles as Leia murmurs and shifts closer to her. Was she thinking too hard? Did she say any of that out loud? She doesn’t think so, but what if she did. How can she explain to Leia things that she is only just starting to understand herself?

Leia doesn’t say anything. She just throws an arm over Syal’s waist, and tucks her head into the crook of Syal’s neck. Syal curls her body in response, fitting herself against Leia. Leia sighs in contentment, drifting back off to sleep again.

Syal finds that more difficult. She’s aware of every place that Leia’s body touches hers, feels dishonest and a little ashamed about noticing – they’re sharing a bed out of necessity, but Syal had never expected that to mean that she’d hold Leia through the night while she slept. They’ve been doing this a while, back to back, or simply side by side, always working it out. This is different.

She sleeps eventually. Leia is already awake and gone by the time she wakes up in the morning, so she doesn’t know if Leia woke in her arms, if Leia remembers any of it. They pass during the day and things are no different between them.

That night, Syal goes back to her room to find Leia already curled up in her bed, and quietly resigns herself to her fate.

.

Syal moves among pilots and techs, around medical crews, across the main hangar of the _Chancellor_ towards the two latest arriving X-Wings. She notes the chevron markings – these are the ones that Wes and Hobbie left Hoth in. Hobbie was injured. “Medical crew!” Syal raises her hand and bellows as loud as she can, walking fast towards Hobbie’s X-Wing. She pushes the tech crew aside, and climbs up the ladder herself to pop Hobbie’s cockpit. “Derek Klivian, you better be alive in there.”

“He was still talking on the comm.” Syal tilts her head up to see Wes, cockpit already popped, looking concerned and worse for wear. “I kept asking him if he was fine, and he says he was, but I know he was lying.” Wes’s voice shakes.

Syal hopes to hell Hobbie will survive this. If not, she’ll be two good pilots down, because she’ll lose Wes to it as well. She leans into the cockpit. She shakes Hobbie’s shoulder. He stirs. “I’m fine, Wes.” He blinks, slowly focusing on who’s in front of him. “I’m fine, mom.”

Syal shakes her head. She suppresses a laugh. Hobbie is clearly injured, she can see from the marks on his suit, should probably have been brought on board before they all reached Haven, but there’s no time for that now. She leaps down the ladder. “Get him to medbay.” She looks across at Wes, who is standing, nervous. “Go with him,” she tells Wes, with a nod of her head. “Tell medical I need to know when he’ll be fit to fly.”

Syal knows she’s the highest ranked officer of the Starfighter Corps present in this hangar, that she’s aware of. That means finding enough pilots and ships to form a combat air patrol to defend what survives of the fleet is her responsibility. That’s the responsibility she accepted when Leia pinned the rank of Major to her collar, all those months ago.

Leia.

Syal stalks across the hangar, to a soldier with a clipboard who’s logging arrivals. “Report, now,” she demands. He glances up, catches sight of her rank pins, and snaps to attention. “I need a list of ships and pilots who have arrived on the _Chancellor_ , and hook up with the rest of the fleet. I want to know what we’re working with.”

He hands her the list.

The _Millennium Falcon_ is not on it. Leia had missed her transport, the last transport out, and Han Solo had said he’d get her out. Of Syal’s surviving Rogues who left Hoth, only Luke Skywalker is yet to arrive. Syal notes that as odd – he left before Wes and Hobbie. Of the pilots on this list, Syal thinks she can scrape together two flights – enough to get the CAP going.

Tycho Celchu is standing underneath his X-Wing, keeping well clear of the chaos. Syal approaches him. “Lieutenant,” she says, and then shakes her head. “No, that won’t do – we’re missing too many. I’m brevetting you to Captain, Celchu, at least until Skywalker is found.”

Tycho looks startled, but snaps off a hasty salute. “Yes ma’am.” He considers her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get the CAP going – we need ships in the air to defend the fleet. You take first flight, Rendar takes second, use my name to get the fuel and weapons authorised. Here’s a list of pilots with ships to fly – decide which of them are fit to fly a shift and which to get food and rest to fly second.”

“What about you?”

Syal glances to the doorway of the hangar. General Rieekan stands there, surveying the chaos. “I suspect I’m wanted in debriefing.”

.

Three weeks after the Battle of Hoth, anyone who has not made the Rendezvous is moved to the ‘missing, presumed dead’ list.

It includes three of the Rebellion’s brightest stars; Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa.

The remaining Rogues take Luke’s disappearance the hardest. He was their friend, and after having so many comrades fall on the battlefield, for one more to vanish as they made their escape is almost too much.

And Syal? Syal misses Leia like she’s lost a piece of herself.

If she had any doubts about the way she felt about Leia, they’re gone now. Syal’s in love with her. Not that it matters anymore. For all of High Command’s hopes, that maybe the Falcon is just hiding out somewhere, temporarily waylaid, Syal knows that she’s going to have to resign herself to losing another person she loves. She should have been there. She should have escorted the Falcon herself, and maybe then Leia would be here today.

So she throws herself into rebuilding.

It’s what Leia would want, what Luke would want, for the Rebellion to continue and to thrive. Syal takes the Rogues, and sets to building them into the Alliance’s premier X-Wing squadron. Tycho’s brevet to captain becomes a full promotion, and he reluctantly assumes Skywalker’s place as Syal’s second.

“You don’t have to save the entire Galaxy by yourself, Syal,” Mon says to her, one night. Syal is tucked up in the corner of Mon’s office, trying to put together a squadron roster, because she can’t sit in her own office without some hotshot pilot bothering her, saying that he (and they’re always men) deserves a place on Rogue Squadron.

Syal looks up. Mon looks weary and overworked too. They lost a lot on Hoth, transports that never made it to Haven. The responsibility that sits on Mon’s shoulders is not a light one. “I can try,” Syal responds. “If it’ll make someone else happy, I’ll try.”

“You deserve some happiness of your own.”

Syal could say the same of Mon, but she doesn’t, not here. “I don’t know how I can be happy when she’s gone,” Syal says. She doesn’t elaborate who she’s talking about. Mon will know. Mon has always known Syal better than Syal knows herself.

“She’d want you to figure out how.”

At least Syal’s pilots aren’t interfering busy-bodies. None of them know about Syal’s feelings for Leia Organa. All of them are younger, all of them filled with more optimism than she has. They are all convinced that Luke and Han and Leia are alive out there somewhere, off having adventures, and they’ll turn back up at the fleet at any moment.

Six months after the Battle of Hoth, Syal learns that she ought to trust her pilot’s faith. Because as they fly the CAP around the assembled fleet at Haven, Wes spots a ship coming in that matches the profile of the _Millennium Falcon_. As Syal flies out to confront it, she hears a voice she thought she would never hear again over her comms.

“This is Leia Organa, to the Rebel Fleet. I’m on board the _Millennium Falcon_ , and I need medical assistance, urgently.”

A weight is lifted off Syal’s chest. It’s a weight so heavy that she doesn’t know how she’s managed to breathe, all these past months. But now it is gone, and Leia is back.

“This is Rogue Leader. It’s good to hear your voice, Leia,” Syal replies, as she turns her X-Wing around to guide the Falcon in.

.

No one is the same after Bespin.

In some cases, the change is obvious and drastic. Luke has lost a hand, has gained muscle, strength, and discipline that he lacked before, and wanders through life like he’s not really part of it anymore. The only time Syal sees a glimmer of the boy he used to be is when he flies with the Rogues, but that isn’t often. He won’t come back to the Squadron full-time, despite Syal asking repeatedly. He is needed elsewhere, he says sagely, and it turns out that the Alliance inherited its rulebook from the GAR, and therefore, a Jedi outranks everyone.

Leia is… Leia seems haunted. She spends most of her first week back pushing for a Alliance-sanctioned rescue mission for Han Solo, and looking after Luke. Now that Chewbacca and Lando Calrissian are off searching for leads, Leia doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself.

When she takes a dangerous diplomatic mission to [x], Syal volunteers to be her pilot. She’s got the diplomatic guard training, but she’s still surprised when it’s approved.

(Later, Mon will tell her that she personally signed off on it; Syal isn’t the only one concerned about Leia.)

Syal leaves the Rogues in Luke’s hands, and knows that if he fails then Tycho is more than capable of stepping up to the plate. The shuttle is an Imperial design, the sort of thing Syal learnt to fly at the academy on Coruscant, all those years ago.

“You’re my pilot?” Leia asks, surprise in her voice, when she steps on board. She’s wearing fatigues, and there’s a bag thrown over her shoulder that no doubt contains a white dress; Leia might be more comfortable running about in clothes she can fight in, but she also knows how to capitalise on her assets.

“I was trained by the Imperial Academy on this class of ship, I’m one of the best pilots the Alliance has, and I spent two years as Mon’s guard. I’m the most qualified candidate for this position by a kilometre,” Syal replies.

Leia looks at her, and nods. “Okay. I’m ready to depart when you are.” Then she ducks her head and continues to her cabin.

Syal watches her walk away. It’s so clear that she’s hurting. And Syal doesn’t know what to do about it. She’s not sure that sitting Leia down and helping her braid her hair will help this time – she’s not sure that really helped the time before.

She settles down in the cockpit, and goes through the launch proceedings. Focuses herself on navigating out of Haven, back into the Galaxy, and then plots the hyperspace course.

Then she goes to check on Leia.

Leia is sitting in her cabin, at the desk. She’s propped a mirror onto it, and is looking into it. Her braids have been unpinned from her head, but she’s stopped there.

“Princess,” Syal says, slipping inside. She looks at Leia’s hair and wonders if it could be that simple. “Would you like me to help you with your hair?”

Leia looks over her shoulder. She just looks tired. She looks at Syal for a long moment, and then draws in a deep breath. “Sure,” she says, making it sound as though it would be easy. “I’d like that.”

Syal walks to the chair. Leia sits up in it, and Syal sets to work. Undoing the braids that Leia currently has in, carefully brushing her hair out, and then parting it and setting to a new set of braids. She works an intricate four strand lace braid down each side of Leia’s hair, being as gentle as she can.

Syal just likes being close to Leia again. She spent so long thinking that Leia might be dead, that the relief of seeing her is still soothing, fills the hole in her chest that had become a gaping wound whilst Leia was away. She ties off the last braid slowly, because there goes her excuse to touch Leia.

She steps back. “You look very pretty, Princess,” Syal says.

Leia gives her a studious look. Like she can’t figure Syal out. “You know, you can just call me Leia. You used to, once.”

Once, Syal and Leia shared a bed, and Syal didn’t know she was completely head over heels in love with Leia Organa. Leia wasn’t suffering, under something Syal doesn’t understand.

“Leia.” Syal says it. She wants to say it more, imbue it with affection and kindness and desire. This is not the place for any of those feelings.

She moves to leave. She steps away. She can find something to do in the cockpit, leave Leia in peace.

But then there is a hand on her wrist. “Stay,” Leia says, with those dark expressive eyes as well as her mouth. “Stay with me, Syal.” Leia tugs her back into the room. She makes her way backwards until the backs of her knees bump into the bed. She falls down onto it, and Syal stops herself from falling down with her, from falling onto Leia, and straddling her and kissing her.

Leia pats the bed beside her. “Sit with me.”

So Syal does. She sits besides Leia, thigh against thigh, too close for comfort. Her hands fall awkwardly in her lap; she doesn’t know what to do with them. She raises her gaze to meet Leia’s, and finds Leia watching her with a curious expression. “You’re being weird,” Leia says. “And I don’t like it. I thought this could be the one thing in my life that hadn’t been thrown into disarray by everything that had happened, and yet…” Leia’s voice breaks off. Her hands clutch at Syal, and she looks up at Syal, desperate and pleading. “Tell me how I fix it.”

Syal is stunned speechless. Her mouth drops open. “Leia—” She tries to find the words to reassure the girl that she’s grabbed the wrong end of the stick. “It’s obvious something happened on Bespin. I just wanted to give you space to process it. And I’ve been busy.”

“There’s nothing between me and Han,” Leia blurts.

Syal shakes her head, confused at the sudden digression. “I didn’t assume there was.”

“No, you don’t— The Empire, they thought there was something, they wanted to use him to hurt me.” Leia’s fingers have a tight hold on Syal’s wrists. “But we’re just friends. Close friends, sure, but nothing more.”

“Princess…” Syal furrows her brow, trying to follow Leia’s train of thought. Could it be— No.

“He made a joke, you know. When we were sitting on that cell in Bespin. Said that it was a good thing that you weren’t there, because otherwise they’d have some real leverage over me.” Syal bites her lip. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “He was right. I didn’t ever realise, but— Syal, I… you’re the one I want.”

Syal blinks.

“Maybe that’s what’s made it weird,” Leia continues. “And if it is, I’m sorry, but—”

Syal surges forward and cuts Leia off with a kiss.

She lifts her hands to cup Leia’s face, brushing a thumb over Leia’s cheekbone as she tilts Leia’s head up to kiss her deeper. She pours every drop of emotion she feels into the kiss. Leia’s hand comes up to curl in the front of her jacket, clutching it, pulling her closer. They’re drowning in it, both of them, lost in the swirl of emotion.

When they part, Leia is flushed, smiling and almost giddy with disbelief. It echoes what Syal is feeling.

“There’s nothing to fix, Leia,” Syal says. She brushes her hand over Leia’s jaw. Gods, Leia is beautiful; Syal can’t understand how on earth she’d be so lucky. “Nothing. If I was being weird, it’s only because I didn’t want to burden you with what I felt for you.”

“Which is?”

Leia presses forward, lips a centimetre away from Syal’s. One of her hands is on Syal’s thigh. Her tone is teasing, and Syal can tell; Leia will be an absolute menace.

But she’s hers, and so, Syal kisses Leia, and tugs her down on the bed, the way she wanted too from the beginning.

.

The Empire has built another Death Star.

Syal is not particularly surprised that they’ve built another super weapon, but the lack of originality surprises her. Analysing the plans that they’ve been brought, it’s clear that this one does not contain the flaw that made it so vulnerable to the squadrons of snubfighters before, but it’s part-finished state means that all they need to do is to fly inside it, and blow the main reactor.

It sounds so simple, and yet it’s not.

Syal receives another promotion; to Colonel. Just as before, Leia pins the rank badge to her collar. This time, she kisses Syal in celebration afterwards, telling her how proud she is, and it makes Syal’s heart spin. As Colonel, she will be in command of the X-Wings and A-Wings in the battle; the bombers, made up of a force of Y-Wings and B-Wings, squadrons Gold and Blue, will be under Calrissian’s command.

(“Hero of the Battle of Tanaab, my ass,” is what Wes Janson says, when he learns that Calrissian has been given the rank of General. “We could have fended those pilots off plenty well without his help, he had to come in and _ruin_ everything.”

Syal was already inclined to dislike Lando Calrissian – she has some choice words to say about his handling of the Bespin situation, namely, how dare he put Leia in any sort of danger, even if it was to save an entire city of people – and so she’s delighted that Wes has given her even more ammunition.)

She works the details of the plan out the morning before the briefing, with Admiral Ackbar and General Calrissian. Calrissian is fresh back from Tatooine, the crazy plan to rescue Han Solo having actually succeeded. Syal works out some plans for a simulation run – her Rogues are pretty good at flying through a small trench and shooting a small target, as a simulation based on the first Death Star run has been one of the standard training protocols for as long as the unit has been functioning. But that doesn’t account for everyone, and there will be several pilots in this battle who aren’t experienced combat veterans.

Syal is quiet throughout the briefing. Mon is there, standing tall in front of the Alliance. Leia sits in the front row, with Han, Chewie and Lando. Syal stays at the back, with her pilots. She’s flanked by Tycho, Wes and Hobbie. Tycho’s volunteered to fly an A-Wing, whilst Wes and Hobbie have taken Red Three and Red Four.

And then Luke Skywalker walks in, dressed head to toe in black, and Syal barely recognises him.

“Don’t suppose he’s flying with us,” Tycho says, as Luke announces his intention to join Han’s team on Endor. “We could use a pilot like him.”

“We’ll do fine without him,” Syal says, with force. “All of you can fly at that level, and you are all we need out there. We’ll cope without Luke.”

Syal still asks Luke if he wants to fly with them, just before they all board the Lambda-class shuttle they’re taking to the forest moon. He looks at her, trying to assess her seriousness, and then laughs softly. “I’d love to,” he says. “But I know I’m needed elsewhere.”

Syal wishes him luck, anyway. She has a feeling he’s going to need it.

Luke walks away, and then Leia turns to Syal.

Leia walks across the hangar of _Home One_ with purpose, stopping just before Syal. She looks up at Syal with the fiercest expression on her face. “Don’t you die out there,” Leia says, a finger pointed and jabbing against the life-support box on Syal’s chest. “Don’t you die. Not without me, you hear me?”

“Of course.” Syal smiles softly. As eloquent as Leia is, Syal’s learning that she sometimes has trouble expressing her intimate feelings with her words. “You’re not allowed to die down on Endor without me either, Leia. You’ll be safe, and your boys will look out for you, just as mine will look out for me.”

Surprise crosses Leia’s face. In that moment, she seems to realise that Syal understands her. That all that posturing is just because she’s scared that they might die without each other, words still unsaid. Leia leans up onto her tip toes and grabs the straps of Syal’s flak vest and tugs her down for a fierce kiss.

There’s at least one shocked gasp that echoes across the hangar, as Syal’s hands come up to clutch the back of Leia’s head and kiss her back just as hard. A couple of people stare, but they are quickly turned away by those who know better, leaving the princess and her pilot some privacy.

“I love you,” Leia says, because she can’t let it go unsaid.

“I know,” Syal says, because she knew that, whether Leia has voiced it aloud or not. “I love you too,” she says, though she’s already said it, in early mornings and late nights, because it can never be said enough. “Stay safe Leia. May the Force be with you.”

Leia leans up to claim another kiss, soft and tender. “May the Force be with you, as well.” She draws back, entangling her fingers in Syal’s. She looks at the woman she loves for a long moment, and Syal looks back at her. And then she walks away. She keeps her fingers tight in Syal’s for as long as she can, and then they slowly fall from each other, untangling.

Syal closes her eyes and prays.

.

Syal flew into the heart of the Death Star and survived it.

That was yesterday, and now she floats above the forest moon of Endor, outside her ship, her hand trapped inside a bomb, stopping it from detonating. Her ship floats clear of her, and her life support line is still tethered, but she can feel herself slipping away.

But the ships will get clear. The Rebellion will only loose her life to this bomb, and Syal can live with that.

Leia will mourn – she’ll be heartbroken. Syal wishes she could see her one last time, to reassure her that it’s okay. But Syal knows she will also understand, that sacrificing your life for the many is something Leia would do as easily as breathing.

Syal held her and kissed her yesterday, on the surface of that moon below them. There had been something that she wasn’t saying, a secret that she and Luke seemed to share, both of them shaped by it. It hadn’t been the time to raise the matter, and now Syal might never know.

Space is cold. And black. Syal will die from the exposure, a slow death as her life support fails her. She always thought she’d go in a fiery explosion.

Just like her parents.

Force – at least they had each other, in the end. She wasn’t there, and neither was Wedge, but they had each other, and they died doing good. Syal is following in their footsteps, buying precious time.

She wonders if Wedge will die the same way.

She wonders if Wedge is dead already.

“Syal, come in—” And there’s Luke Skywalker’s voice, piped into Syal’s helmet. She closes her eyes. “Syal, I’m here to help.” Luke might be a Jedi now, blessed with powers that saw the Emperor and Darth Vader dead, but he’s still just a man, and Syal has resigned herself to her fate. “Syal, look, my sister gave me very stern instructions to bring you back alive, and I’m not disappointing her.”

“You don’t have a sister,” Syal responds. She blinks. Maybe she misheard him – her oxygen is low. Maybe she’s started hallucinating. Maybe he’s not actually there.

“Leia didn’t tell you?” Luke sounds surprised. “Never mind, we’ll fill you in later. You have got yourself into a sticky situation here – Artoo, can you get me a view?”

“Leia and I had better things to do last night.” And then Syal shakes her head, coming out of her fugue state. Luke is there, and he’s trying to help. But most of all – he’s saying what she thinks she’s saying. “Wait, Leia’s your sister?”

“Yes, but it can wait until I’ve saved your life.” And then Luke tells her his plan, and Syal calls him foolhardy for even attempting such a thing. But, seeing as how she stuck her hand in a bomb, she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.

The last thing she remembers is the blazing green of Luke’s lightsaber, cutting her free, before she blacks out in space.

.

When Syal wakes, she’s in _Home One_ ’s medical bay.

Sitting in a chair beside her bed is Leia Organa. Her right hand is busy flicking through something on a datapad, whilst her left hand is entwined in Syal’s. Syal watches her for a little while, readjusting to consciousness. She can taste the bacta in the back of her throat, but nothing else aches – considering what happened to her, hand in a bomb floating in the dead of space, she’s lucky.

“Hey Lei.” Syal’s voice is scratchy, but the warmth and affection she feels for Leia undercuts it.

Leia looks up. Her datapad clatters to the floor as she drops it. She’s too focused on Syal. She rises to her feet, one hand still clasped in Syal’s, the other sweeping across Syal’s jaw. “Syal,” she says, and her tone is just as warm. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Syal smiles. She squeezes Leia’s hand gently. “Just glad I get to see your pretty face again.”

Leia flushes, smiling bright. She leans forward to kiss Syal, the sort of giddy joyful kiss that just overflows with love. She presses her forehead against Syal’s, grateful for Syal’s presence. And then she kisses her girlfriend again.

This is a kiss that lasts longer. Into it Leia presses every bit of delight and relief she feels that Syal is still here, that they haven’t lost each other. She curls her fingers into Syal’s hair, entwining herself in it, as if she could entangle herself fully in Syal so they would never have to be apart again.

When they part, Syal shifts in the bed so Leia can fit beside her. Leia curls into Syal’s side, head resting on Syal’s shoulder, Syal’s arm curled around her. Leia feels safe here. It’s away from the hustle and bustle of the last few days, everything coming to a head with the destruction of the Death Star, the death of the Emperor.

“How much do you remember?” Leia asks, idly tracing circles into Syal’s ribcage.

Syal is quiet as she thinks back on it. Darkness. Cold. The end of everything. Never seeing the person she loved again. “Not much,” she says, because Leia doesn’t need to carry the burden of that. But there was something. “Did Luke say that you were his sister? That could have been a hallucination, it’s ridiculous.”

Leia sighs, long and deep. “No, it’s true.”

Syal starts. Her fingers stop playing with the ends of Leia’s hair. When she’d been out there, Luke didn’t seem like he was making it up, but it couldn’t be true – could it?

In Syal’s arms, Leia turns closer into her side. “We’re still working out the details, but – it’s true. He’s my brother. We must have been split up at birth, adopted by different people to keep us safe. Our birth mother – we don’t know who she is. Who she was. But our birth father—”

Leia’s voice cuts off. She can’t find the words. Her entire body shakes, and Syal turns to surround her completely, pulling her against her chest and dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Luke’s father was Anakin Skywalker,” she says. “That’s what he’s always said. I remember the holos of him, the hero of the Clone Wars. Him and Kenobi. If he’s your father, he was a good man.”

The words, intended to be soothing, do not have that affect. Quite the opposite. Leia squirms, practically thrashing. “No, no, you don’t understand.” Leia whines, desperate and just a little belligerent. She’s breathing too fast, short sharp gasps that aren’t getting enough oxygen in.

“Then tell me, Leia.” Syal keeps her voice perfectly even. Something isn’t right here. Something is desperately wrong, and she doesn’t know what it is, and she can’t help until she does. She strokes the back of Leia’s head, as reassuring as she can manage. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand. Or, if you can’t say it, I can go ask Luke – if it’s something he knows.”

“No, I can do it, don’t – don’t get Luke.”

For a long while, Syal just holds Leia. Holds her as Leia gets her breathing back under control, until she stills and is quiet and content and at peace.

“Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader,” Leia says, quiet as a whisper. “Darth Vader is my birth father. My blood.”

Oh.

Suddenly, all of Leia’s distress makes sense.

Darth Vader tortured her. He made her watch as her planet was destroyed. He was pure evil and malevolence, everyone knows that. A man who is responsible for unknown pain and suffering. Syal would not wish being related to him on her worst enemy, let alone the woman she loves.

It doesn’t make a jot of sense, though, how Anakin Skywalker ended up as that twisted man, but Syal doesn’t care about that. She pulls back from Leia, so she can see her face. Her hands cup Leia’s jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, staring her intently in the eye. “That doesn’t matter to me,” Syal says. “I don’t know if it’ll matter to anyone else, and I don’t know how to help you come to terms with it, but it doesn’t matter to _me._ You are Leia Organa, the woman I love, and there’s nothing that can change that.”

Leia nods. Her eyes are wet.

“I love you,” Syal says. “I love you more every day. And every day I think that maybe I can’t love you anymore, but I still do. And your father was Bail Organa, and that’s all that matters.”

Tears are rolling down Leia’s cheeks. Syal strokes them aside. “I love you,” Syal says, as if those three words will solve everything, and knowing that they can’t. “I love you, Leia.”

She kisses her, Leia’s mouth wet and salty with her tears, and wonders where they go from here.

.

Two weeks after the Battle of Endor, and Syal finds herself holding the orders for the commissioning of a reformed Rogue Squadron, for the defence of the New Republic. Everything is changing now the Emperor is dead. They don’t have Coruscant back, not by a long way, and there are billions of lives still living in misery under the Empire.

Rogue Squadron will start the liberation.

Syal has her pick of pilots. Everyone wants to be a part of the Rogue legacy. She asks her boys first – Wes, Hobbie and Tycho. The three of them say yes, not that Syal ever doubted they would.

Luke resigns his commission before she can ask him, but Syal always knew that Luke’s time as a Rogue had come to its end.

The rest, she will decide after careful thought, simulator runs. She doesn’t want the best pilots, she wants the best _squadron_ , and that means choosing people who will work well off each other. A pilot who does good work under one commanding officer might not work under hers.

Rogue Squadron will be on the front lines, and it’s important that it works. Syal pours every hour she has into the assembly of her pilots. She submits a final candidate list to Admiral Ackbar, and prays that she’s made good choices.

Walking across the hangar, she spies a shuttle, ready for departure. And Leia standing in front of it.

Syal cocks her head. Leia isn’t supposed to be leaving today – she’d have told her, surely? Syal picks up her pace, hurrying towards Leia. An aide is attempting to hurry her onboard the shuttle, but Leia stops them as she catches sight of Syal.

“I left a message with your astromech,” Leia says, before Syal can even ask a question. “I’ve got to go help assemble the council. I can’t stay.”

“So you were going to leave, without saying goodbye?”

Something twists in Syal’s gut. She can hear the jealousy, hear the accusation in her words, and she hates it. But she needs to know, or it will eat her up inside.

“I heard thirty minutes ago – there wasn’t time.” Leia looks up at her, just as hurt as Syal feels. “You have your duty, I have mine, we always knew this was how it would be.”

Syal clenches her fists and grits her teeth. She does know that, and yet she doesn’t like this sudden reality of it. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” Leia admits. She reaches forward for Syal’s hand, loosening Syal’s fingers and tangling them in her own. “You’ll be going on missions too, Syal. We’ll miss each other.”

Syal hears the double-meaning in Leia’s words. Just because Leia is leaving first, that doesn’t give Syal a reason to be angry with her. Syal would have left as well, when her orders came in. And that is a situation that will continue to affect them, because they will both follow orders to the other end of the Galaxy, no matter how far apart that takes them.

So they will be apart, and they will miss each other, and it will be what it is.

“Stay safe,” Syal says, earnest and true. “And come back to me alive, no matter how long that takes.”

“I will,” Leia replies. “Good hunting, Syal. May the Force be with you.”

Leia steps into Syal’s space and leans up for a gentle kiss. Syal obliges her. It’s brief, and then Leia is leaving, and Syal has no idea when they’ll see each other again.

.

On the world of Mrlsst, Syal is reunited with little Myra Terrik.

Myra is a full grown woman now, who’s outgrown the nickname Wedge had given her as a child; she’s Mirax now. Somehow, she manages to recognise Syal – though it’s been seven years since Syal caught a glimpse of her, and closer to seventeen since they actually talked.

Syal is also reunited with Loka Hask.

The man who killed her parents.

Syal thought she’d killed him, when she shot down his ship in the Z-95 headhunter she’d borrowed from Booster. She’d killed the rest of the scum involved with her parents’ deaths.

She despises him, but she’s here to do a job, and she does it. Lets her pilots do her thing, keeps a close eye on Elscol Loro, who is on a knife edge, barely fit to fly, and Syal doesn’t know whether she’ll get over her grief and rise above it, or if she’ll sink into it.

After they deal with everything on Mrlsst, Syal takes Mirax aside.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Wedge?” she asks, in the vainest of hopes.

Mirax shakes her head. Her expression is mournful. “Not since he ran away. My dad and I – we’ve kept looking. We wanted to tell him that your folks were dead. He deserved to know that much, even if he did leave. But we can’t find a trace.”

Syal nods, resigned. “Do you think he could be dead?”

“A dead man is easy to find,” Mirax says. “No, I don’t.” She looks out to the blackness of space, the stars twinkling in the sky. “I think he’s alive, out there somewhere. I believe that. Somewhere in my gut, I know that’s true.”

“You have more faith than me,” Syal responds.

“You’ve probably seen more death than I have.” Mirax offers Syal a soft smile. “Do you want me to start looking again? The Empire’s falling, that’s going to shake all kinds out the woodworks. I have contacts. I bet you could hook me up with some people in the New Republic – don’t get to be a Colonel for nothing, I’m guessing.”

Syal has more pull than her rank necessarily gives her, given that Mon Mothma and Leia Organa both have a long standing soft-spot for her. But she can’t use New Republic resources to search for her brother.

But at the same time, Syal wants him found. She doesn’t know where she stands with Leia anymore, only that there’s something there, and hopefully it’ll still be there when this damn war is finally over. But Leia, once without a family, now has a brother. She has someone.

Syal doesn’t really know if she has anyone, and the possibility that her brother might be out there somewhere haunts her.

“I’d appreciate you doing what you can,” she answers. “And I’ll get you a New Republic Intelligence hookup, you could be useful to them in a couple of ways.”

“We’ll find him, Syal,” Mirax says. “We’ll bring Wedge home.”

.

In the skies above Brentaal IV, Syal gets her first clue to where her brother is.

She doesn’t know it at the time. She faces off in a dogfight against Baron Soontir Fel, the best pilot the Imperials have left.

She’s never flown head-to-head with Fel before. Syal knows all the stories, knows all the comparisons that have been made between him and her. They’re of a similar age, though she went through the academy a couple of years before he did, and she went to Coruscant, whilst he was sent to Carida. Both built careers as excellent Imperial pilots, a step above their compatriots. And then Syal defected, and became a rebel ace.

They are equally matched, and it infuriates Syal. Thankfully, she has luck, and the ion-cannon of Colonel Salm’s Y-Wing, and they take Fel alive.

He asks to see Syal, and Syal figures that it’s just because he’s aware of the rivalry between them. She goes down, in her casual clothes, flight jacket thrown over a comfy jumper, strands of hair falling around her face and out of the knot the bulk of her hair is pulled back into. If she had known who Fel was, who he is to her, maybe she’d have done this differently.

As it is, she leans casually against the door, not wanting to give Fel any satisfaction. She wonders if he’s like half of the Imperial tossers she’s met, going to be offended at the idea that a woman had somehow bested him. Instead, he examines her carefully, taking her in with quiet consideration.

That spooks Syal. It puts her on her guard. She asks him why he’s there. They exchange words about their experiences, two Corellian pilots who went to the Empire.

And then he says something she’d never expected.

“I promised my husband that if I ever had the chance, I’d remember him to you.”

“Your husband?” Syal is confused. Fel’s file had mentioned a husband; she’d noted it at the time. It hadn’t mentioned their name. “Do I know them?”

“I hope so. He’s still very fond of you,” Fel says. “But then, I’d expect that of your little brother, wouldn’t you?”

.

Saro Starflare.

Syal can’t quite believe that her little brother has been hiding in plain sight all this time. She’d seen the holodramas – she and Leia had watched them. She’d thought there had been something familiar in Saro’s features, he reminded her of pictures of her father as a young man, but she’d thought nothing of it. The little boy she’d known would never have become a flashy Imperial holostar.

Apparently, Wedge Antilles did just that.

And then he’d fallen in love with Soontir Fel, and married him. After that, any hopes of pursuing a reunion with his sister would have been gone; it placed them firmly on opposite sides of the war.

Only now… Fel wants to defect. Fel wants to come over to their side, fight for the New Republic. He doesn’t seem very fond of them, but he likes what Isard and her cronies are doing even less. And Fel’s defection will put Wedge in danger, put a target on his back.

“We had a plan,” Soontir tells Syal. “Wedge would take the kids and run. Corellia first, and then onwards. You have to find him.”

Syal promises she will. She’ll find her brother, and the nephews she didn’t know she had. Wedge and Soontir have adopted; their children are biological siblings, orphaned in the war.

But Syal is too known a face to set down on Corellia. Between the Imperial Bounty on her head, and the fact that the Diktat has issued orders specifically exiling Syal from her home, she can’t go back. So she sends Wes and Hobbie in her place, and sends Plourr along with them to keep them out of trouble. She and Tycho begin the difficult task of integrating Soontir into their Squadron.

Wes, Hobbie and Plourr return from Corellia having had an interesting encounter with two CorSec agents, but without Wedge and the children. According to Fel’s relatives, Wedge had already moved onto the second part of his escape plan, and no one knows quite where that will take him.

Syal’s brother slips through her fingers. She will have to wait for their reunion.

She hopes she does not have to wait too long.

.

New Republic Intelligence is informed of Wedge’s disappearance. They promise to keep an eye out for him, and the New Republic promises aid, if he comes looking for help.

Whether he will or not, that’s another matter. Soontir was never privy to any of the preparations Wedge made – they kept that information contained. It’s good operating procedure, Syal can admire that, but it doesn’t help. Wedge is a man of considerable means. He’s also an excellent pilot, with a quick-wit and a talent for deception. He might technically be a civilian, but to treat him as such would be to vastly underestimate him.

“He would have made a fine soldier,” Soontir tells Syal, over dinner in the mess hall, three weeks after Wedge disappeared. “A fine pilot. He was never interested in that, though.”

“Do you know why?” Syal is curious; she’s glad that Wedge didn’t become a soldier, or a TIE pilot, never signed up to the Imperial ranks. She is glad that he has never been on the receiving end of her laser fire. But she doesn’t know him well enough to assume that he would have stayed away on her account, to avoid placing himself in the same position.

“No,” Soontir says. “I always got the idea that he didn’t approve of the Empire’s wars. Not that he was ever a fan of your Rebellion, either. He just wanted to live his life on his own terms. He’s stubborn, your brother is.”

Syal smiles. She likes that idea. Likes that Wedge has a bit of a backbone on him. “How’d you find that one out?” she asks.

“About the time he decided that he wanted me, and there was nothing that was going to stand in his way,” Soontir answers. “I wasn’t looking for love, and I certainly wasn’t looking for it with some vapid holostar – not that Wedge is that, but he can appear that way. But he was persistent, and he charmed me off my feet.” Soontir ducks his head, and Syal thinks she catches a hint of a fond smile on his face.

Her brother found someone who loved him very much, and that’s something to be grateful for.

“You must miss him,” Syal says.

“I do. Very much. But this isn’t the first time we’ve been parted. He’ll come back to me – it’s the only thing in the Galaxy I have faith in.” Soontir looks up. “You know what that’s like.”

Syal furrows her brow. “Do I?”

“Your boys – they talk, perhaps around people they shouldn’t,” Soontir explains. “You’re in a relationship with the Princess Organa, correct? And she is far away right now.”

Syal makes a note to talk to Wes, Hobbie and Tycho about what they’re saying, at some point. For now – she tries to summon up a response that doesn’t expose every one of her fragile feelings. “Leia and I – we have something. And I miss her, yes, but – we’re hardly married.”

“I don’t think that matters,” Soontir says.

.

Syal never thought that her first time alone with Leia for months would come in a Axxilan sewer, but here they are.

They’re on a mission. Of course they are, that’s the only reason why they would be here. Neither of them is particularly clued into the local dating scene – or dating in general – but Syal knows enough to not bring her partner to a sewer. She guesses that Leia’s Princess training covered that.

They’re here because they’ve received word that Sate Pestage, current ruler of what is left of the Empire, wants to discuss terms of surrender. To find out what he really wants, and to possibly negotiate, if the signs are right, the New Republic has sent Leia Organa and Syal Antilles.

(Leia is an obvious choice, but Syal had questioned her own inclusion to Airen Cracken, the head of intelligence. She was a pilot, she’d said. Had no place on diplomatic missions. Rogue Squadron was not famed for diplomacy. He’d just smiled as he looked back at her, and said: “Weren’t you Mon Mothma’s personal guard? I don’t think we have anyone more qualified than you.)

She and Leia haven’t seen each other since just after Endor, when Leia left. They’ve exchanged a few messages, had one holocall that dropped after five minutes due to the bad signal.

Syal is still desperately, desperately in love.

She doesn’t know if Leia is.

“I heard you made progress on looking for your brother,” Leia says, as the trudge through the muck and grime.

“Haven’t found him yet.” Syal shrugs. “I managed to find his husband though, which I guess is progress?”

“How does it feel to have Baron Soontir Fel as your brother in-law?” Leia asks.

“Weird.” They come to a gateway, and spend a couple of minutes in silence, unlocking it and going through to the next part of the sewers. “I can’t believe my little brother married the Imperial Ace. And I can’t believe he was under my nose all along.”

“I can’t believe my brother has a crush on your brother.”

Syal turns sharply on the spot, so her entire body is facing Leia. “What!?”

“Oh.” Leia giggles, which is delightful, the solemn expression she’s worn this entire trip finally broken. “So, I showed the Starflare holos to Luke as well, and – I think he was rather charmed by Saro.”

Syal blinks. “Huh.”

“Doesn’t really mean anything, Luke’s off doing his Jedi thing, and well: I’m guessing Wedge and Soontir are happily married.”

“Seems that way.” Syal turns away from Leia, and continues making her way through the sludge. “I’m glad he found someone who loves him, even if I might have questioned his choice. But Fel seems like a good man. And everyone deserves to be happy with the person they love.”

A small hand slips into Syal’s. Leia’s hand.

“They do,” she says.

It’s only another ten minutes before they finally reach Pestage’s hiding place, and have to become the representatives of the New Republic, but for ten minutes, they are just them, together.

And Syal knows that she’s not the only one whose heart still aches with love.

.

It’s when Nrin puts in his papers for a transfer, and Syal can’t get any movement on getting a replacement for him or Ibitsam, that she starts to suspect that Rogue Squadron is being put on the back burner.

They’ve been on active duty for thirteen months. They’ve lost people. Everyone deserves a break, and Syal suspects they’re going to use the fact that they’re undermanned to forcibly give everyone one.

She doesn’t mind that – apart from the fact that she has no idea what to do with herself, if she isn’t at war and needed.

She wonders if Leia is also going to get some time. Even if she doesn’t, Syal could just go and be with her. They could finally work out what they are to each other, properly, forge a relationship that will last the test of time, last the test of peace.

Syal likes that idea.

Likes the dream of lazy mornings spent with Leia at her side, Syal combing her hand through Leia’s hair. To turn and press a kiss to her shoulder. To have their feet tangled together under the sheets. To spend the day knowing that Leia will be there when she gets home.

She’ll have to drop Leia a line. Leia made it quite clear, after the business on Axxila, that she wanted to hear more from Syal.

She leaves her office – she’ll try to comm Leia later, she stands a reasonable chance of actually speaking to Leia instead of just leaving a message – and heads to the hangar, where her remaining pilots are all hanging about.

Or, well—

Soontir is standing still in the middle of the hangar, clutching a data pad in hand. An ensign stands nearby, neat in their uniform, whilst all of Syal’s pilots are exchanging looks.

“What’s going on here?” Syal asks, striding into the middle of the circle, voicing the question no one else is asking.

“Colonel Antilles,” the ensign says. She picks a data chip out of her bag – it’s a mail bag – and offers it to Syal. “I was just about to come find you.”

Syal squints at her, but takes the chip. Have the decommissioning orders for the squadron come through? Has Fel been already been reassigned?

Syal fishes a datapad out of her flightsuit pocket, and plugs in the chip. On it is a single message.

_Syal,_

_I have Starflare. Will be arriving with Falcon to Home One within forty-eight hours of this message. Please be ready to rendezvous._

_Leia._

Syal glances at the time stamp of the message, and then does the math, compensates for the timezones. Leia will be here, with her brother, tomorrow morning. She looks up at Soontir. “Wedge is coming home,” she says, simply.

“He is,” Soontir says back. He looks like he can hardly believe it.

Syal can barely believe it herself.

Tomorrow morning, she’ll be reunited with her brother. After seventeen years apart.

.

The morning sees Syal and Soontir in their dress uniforms, standing at readiness in the hangar. Wes, Tycho and Hobbie loiter in the background, Tycho in casual civilian clothes and the other two in flight suits. All three of them are eager to meet Syal’s little brother, and after all they’ve been through together, Syal can hardly deny them this. Plourr would be here too, if she wasn’t on Eiattu. Plourr would be a good person to have here. She’d break the tension that is steadily building.

The Falcon lands slowly, and clanks awkwardly as it sets down. There’s a long moment of quiet as the engines turn off, before the gangway lowers, where neither Syal or Soontir seem to breathe.

Han Solo is the first person who comes swaggering off the ship, casual as anything. He immediately excuses himself, heading for Syal’s pilots without saying a word.

A murky shadow appears at the top of the gangway. It’s not Leia. It must be Wedge. Syal takes a deep breath, gasping for air, suddenly finding she doesn’t have enough of it.

There’s silence. Syal wonders if she should step forward, initiate the first move. And then Wedge walks slowly, cautiously down the ramp.

Wedge has become a dashing young man. His fine dark hair is pushed away from his face, but there’s a decent length to it. He’s lean, and shorter then Syal. Well dressed, she notes, in a blue shirt and navy trousers, clothes that are simple but well-cut and fitted to his frame. There’s a smile on his face at the sight of his husband, and he makes a beeline for Soontir.

Soontir suddenly jolts into movement, and strides across the hangar. “Missed you,” Soontir says, as he stops in front of Wedge.

“Missed you too,” Wedge replies, and then he falls into Soontir’s embrace. He looks so small next to Soontir, but there’s no mistaking the love and adoration that pours off him. He’s happy, to finally be back in his husband’s arms.

Syal looks past them to glance Leia, still lurking in the Falcon. She gives Syal a quiet smile, but doesn’t move. She wants to leave brother and sister to their reunion.

Wedge and Soontir stand together for a little while. They talk in hushed tones, exchanging words of affection and adoration and relief. They share a kiss, and Wedge runs his hands over his husband’s cheeks and then across his shoulders and arms, seemingly checking for any damage. Syal waits patiently. They need this reunion between them, she understands that. She’s waited so long to see her brother again, another few minutes, or even an hour, isn’t going to hurt her.

Finally, Soontir and Wedge draw away from each other. Soontir heads up the ramp of the Falcon, ushered inside by Leia. Wedge stands alone in the middle of the hangar for a moment, before drawing in a breath and cautiously heading in Syal’s direction.

For all Syal knows very little about Wedge, Wedge probably knows even less of her. Syal has had the holodramas, and Soontir, letting her know what her brother was like. And she has clear recollections of the boy he was, before she left home. All he knows is his hazy recollections, and whatever the Imperial news had to say about her – and none of that was positive or representative.

“Syal?” He stops a clear metre in front of her.

“Hello, little brother,” Syal says. They stand awkwardly for a moment. Syal tried to think of what she’d say to him, earlier, but she doesn’t know what there is to say. It’s clear that he doesn’t either. Syal tries to break the awkwardness by lifting a hand up for a shake. “It’s good to see you.”

Wedge looks at her like she’s completely lost her mind. He glances down at her hand and then back up at her face. “A handshake?” he quirks an eyebrow at her. “It’s been eighteen years, and you offer me a _handshake_?”

Syal shrugs a little awkwardly. “After everything, I didn’t know if you—”

“—You’re my _sister_ , come here.”

Wedge grasps the hand that Syal is still holding in front of her, and uses it to pull Syal into a hug. His arms tighten around her waist, hands spreading across her back. He tucks his head into the crook of her shoulder, breathes deep, and sighs.

Syal holds him back. Wraps her arms around his shoulders, brings a hand up to cup the back of his head. On impulse, she does what she has seen many siblings do, and ruffles his hair. He laughs softly, and Syal knows that everything is going to work out between them.

.

An hour later, and Syal watches as Wedge ruthlessly charms her pilots, standing in their circle as the centre of attention, just like he’s always belonged there. It seems natural, that he’d be laughing along with Tycho, whilst Wes re-enacts some ridiculous story.

“You better not be embarrassing me, Janson,” she says, deciding that she’s hung for too long on the sidelines, and she should join her pilots and her brother.

“I’d never do that mom!” Wes replies.

Syal fixes Wes with a stern expression, and his face is a picture as he finally realises what he said.

“Dammit,” Wes curses.

Hobbie claps him on the shoulder, with fair force. “Hey, it only took you four years to screw up and call her that to her face.”

“Yeah, you’ve only said it in front of half of High Command, all the deck staff, the squadron – sometimes I think the Empire probably has that nickname listed in her file,” Tycho adds.

Wedge’s expression is wide and surprised. “You call my sister ‘mom’?” he asks, a smile forming on his lips.

Syal shakes her head. Her brother is mischief, she’s learning that quickly. Could cause all sorts of trouble if he wanted to, turning that smile in the direction of the right person. Might cause the fall of the Empire. Syal’s sort of glad he doesn’t have any interest in that sort of thing.

“Well, she basically is, Uncle Wedge.”

Wedge pulls a right face, and Wes crows with delight. Syal’s boys fall about themselves with laughter, and she has a sneaking suspicion that nickname might stick. Wedge holds onto his disgruntlement for a long time, until his face is turned to a smile by the reappearance of Soontir and Leia. He pushes Wes aside and goes to his husband, greeting Soontir with a kiss on the cheek.

Leia smiles at the couple, and then slips past them. She moves to Syal’s side, taking Syal’s hand in hers. “I need to talk to you,” she says quietly.

“Now?” Syal says, glancing down at her.

“Anytime,” Leia replies.

Syal glances at her friends and brother, at how happy everyone is. She catches Tycho’s eye, and he makes a gesturing motion with his head. _Go_ , it seems to say.

“Come on.” Syal tugs Leia away.

.

They find an unoccupied observation room, and slip inside. Leia uses her clearance code to lock it, ensuring they won’t be disturbed. Syal seats herself on the step that leans down to the window, and pats the empty space beside her. Leia joins her, taking Syal’s hand, entwining their fingers and resting it between them.

“Thank you for bringing my brother back to me,” Syal says. She tightens her grip on Leia’s hand, giving it a squeeze, trying to convey all the emotions she doesn’t know how to voice.

“I don’t think I did much. He came in of his own accord. I just happened to be there,” Leia replies. “Got him through the intelligence debrief as quick as I could, and convinced Han that he could transport four passengers back to Home One. He seems nice,” she adds. “Not what I expected from Saro, the Imperial holostar, but I can see him as your brother. It makes sense. And your nephews are cute.”

Syal cocks her head, a bemused smile crossing her face. “The kids are with him?”

“Yeah. Nervous things, though. They’ll introduce you once everything’s calmed down a little. Right now, it’s too much.” Leia’s hand, the one that isn’t entwined with Syal’s, comes to rest on Syal’s knee. “There’s been a lot of changes for everyone, recently.”

“Yeah.” Syal hums a note of agreement. “What did you want to talk about?” Syal asks, knowing that it’ll probably bring more change.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but—” Leia sucks in a breath and turns to Syal. “They’re decommissioning Rogue Squadron. It’s got to pass a council vote, but it will pass. You’ll get the official notification in a couple of weeks.”

“I had my suspicions,” Syal answers. “Though I can’t say I understand it.”

“Half your squad members are wanted elsewhere,” Leia says. “Intelligence wants Tycho. The academy wants Wes and Hobbie, for some force-only-knows reason, thinks they will make good training officers.”

Syal barks out a laugh, imagining that. They probably will, that’s the strangest part, but they won’t do it in any conventional way.

“Plourr can’t keep splitting her time between Rogue Squadron and Eiattu, Xarcce has always made it known that she’d rather be in a less high risk squadron, Ardele and Beruss seem fifty-fifty on whether they want to stay in the military or not.”

“You’ve been reading my personnel files.” Syal’s secretly rather pleased that Leia’s kept such interest in what she’s doing, in the people around her. “And who wants me?”

“The New Republic Council would like you to go on a propaganda tour,” Leia says.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You flew against both Death Stars, you lead the New Republic’s most prestigious X-Wing Squadron, you should know that you’re one of the faces of the Rebellion by now,” Leia says. “You have a story – former Imperial Ace who was talked around and defected even before the Empire openly exposed the evil and horror it was prepared to rain on the Galaxy – and well. You’ve got a face made for the holos, as I’m sure I’ve heard at least one person on the council say.”

“You should tell them that’s my little brother,” Syal jokes.

“Don’t, then they’ll ask him to make propaganda films. It’s bad enough that we’ve got Face Loran on staff, don’t give them another target.”

Syal sits quietly, taking in Leia’s news. A propaganda tour isn’t the worst thing they could make her do; it will still be a sense of purpose. She’s been to plenty of diplomatic events in her time, even if she has usually been in the shadows, watching, keeping safe. This time, she’ll be in the spotlight.

“I could do that,” she says. “Go on tour, tell people about all the good the New Republic is doing.” Syal draws her and Leia’s entwined hands up to her chest. She leans down to place a kiss to the back of Leia’s hand. “But I won’t lie. When I thought about how the Squadron might be disbanded, and what I’d do then – all I could think about is being with you. I’m not sure I want to take another assignment that would keep us apart for so long, not when there’s so many other people who could do that, and the stakes are so low.”

“They want me to do a propaganda tour too,” Leia says. She’s looking up at Syal in complete wonder. “I don’t want to spend all that time away from you either. We could go together.”

Syal turns her body, shifting so she can look Leia clear in the face. “Together?”

Leia lifts her hand from Syal’s knee, up to cup her face. Her thumb brushes over Syal’s cheekbone. “Together.”

The statement takes a little while to sink in. It’s all Syal has dreamed of, getting to spend that time with Leia. Finally having that chance to build something with her. She’ll miss Rogue Squadron, miss being a pilot, but this, here: it’s the one thing that might make it all worth it.

“I’d like that,” Syal says, and ducks her head to kiss Leia.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [We Feel It Like a Shiver, That Old Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732227) by [JumpingJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JumpingJill/pseuds/JumpingJill)




End file.
